How many times have you held my funeral?

Your eulogy of me still fresh in your lips; you vivisect me.

We'll meet, around and around, over and over.

Everytime another x-ray in your pocket, another strand of my hair in your clothes.

We both know a life without loss is no life at all, so I don't blame you,

I often think of your toxicology, figure 4a, the path of the vultures beak.

If only we could talk bluntly, your knife in my side; my thumb in your eye.

Confirm eachothers suspicions of Iliac arterial buildup, patellar hypertrophy, pinched nerves.

Maybe we can finally forget eachothers obituaries then.